


On Warm Sands

by RiceQueen



Category: The Mummy (1999), The Mummy Returns (2001), The Mummy Series
Genre: Dreams, F/M, M/M, Past life, Reincarnation, Slow Burn, Visions, i just needed a reason for him not to be the bad guy, movie plot, or is it a back story, with side story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-08-19 20:22:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8223658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiceQueen/pseuds/RiceQueen
Summary: Alex has been having strange dreams for the last while. They feel real, as though they are actually happening. He has no control, but lives through them. In them, the monster his parents defeated years ago exists as but a man untainted. He wonders if perhaps there can be salvation for him.Then he accidentally puts on a bracelet, and everything goes to shit.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please know that any non-con does not occur between our main characters, and that it will be handled well. I will warn before that chapter approaches. I've been dying for more of these two, and Pakeha is such an inspiration honestly. 
> 
> This will play through the second movie in the series, but there will also be bits of the past like this one scattered through the story. Mostly this is to gage reaction and thoughts or suggestions from anyone interested.

1290 BC

Aleksandar runs through the streets of Memphis, a load of scrolls in hand and more bursting from the satchel over his shoulder. Sandaled feet slapped against stone steps as he raced for the temple at the top of the hill. Imhotep would be waiting for him no doubt, late from a negotiation with their builders. The vizier had made plans for a vast temple to be built, and had offered a hefty sum to any who would lend themselves to build it. One man in particular decided the sum wasn’t enough, and threatened a riot should their pay not be doubled. Aleksandar had been charged with negotiations, since violence was not desired but neither was raising the payment. Unfortunately things hadn’t gone well, and it was not up to the pupil to decide further action. 

The desert had cooled from its daytime heat, and despite the chill in the air the boy felt a sheen of sweat adorning his skin. Dashing passed the guards of the temple, he gave a small wave in greeting. One of the guards rolled his eyes, but both smiled good naturedly. It was not uncommon to see the young priest in training running through the temple on one errand or another. 

Aleksandar burst into his rooms, shared with his master, scrolls scattering across the floor as he did so. “Master!”

Imhotep looked up from his work with a raised eyebrow. He sat at a carved wooden table, parchment stacked high on either side of him. A torch stood close by as the main source of light, and the warm glow bathed the man in gentle heat. “Aleksandar,” he greeted his ward with an inclination of his head, setting down his quill with a sigh, “You are late.”

The boy had flushed furiously, collecting the scrolls from the stone floors and dropping more in the process. “I am sorry master!” After a few more moments struggle, he had the required papers and moved towards the desk. He quickly fished out the scrolls with signatures, and the one the man had torn in half to place in front of the High Priest. Imhotep did not glance at the torn pieces, but did pick up the others to inspect. Still out of breath, Aleksandar stood and tried to calm his heartbeat, glancing at the floor where several scrolls still lay. “I take it negotiations did not go well?”

“No master,” the boy shook his head, “he seemed interested at first, but hardened towards the end of our meeting. He will not take less than two times our agreed amount.” 

Imhotep hummed in acknowledgment, eyes dancing across the page. “It is a shame we must take actions against him,” he murmured quietly, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture towards the boy. Grateful, Aleksandar ducked down to collect the rest of the papers, taking them and the others to the shelves against the far wall. 

Their rooms were spacious, so to accommodate the High Priest and his pupil. One side lay open to the night air, thick pillars of stone and light sheets giving the privacy the vast space required. It led to a balcony, which overlooked the Nile and let the cool breeze of the desert inside on warm nights. Two beds rested close on the wall opposite the entrance, and many shelves lined the walls. Imhotep was not vain, and kept very little gold and jewels about him. A pitcher and bowl sat by the door, ready to collect water. They often took their meals here, and were served by Pharaoh’s own servants.

Careful to keep them organized, Aleksandar finished putting the scrolls away and returned to his master awaiting orders. He waited patiently for nearly half an hour, before Imhotep looked up from his work with an apologetic smile. 

“I am sorry, Aleksandar, but I find myself unable to focus.”

“Is there anything I can do, master?”

The boys eagerness never ceased to make the man proud, and Imhotep forced his weary body to stand. “Finish signing these in my name, if you would. Some require my seal.” His back popped as he moved, and he winced as he straightened his posture. He looked down into the bright eyes of his pupil with appreciation, before heading towards the balcony for some much needed relaxation. Aleksandar was only too happy to sit in his masters place, readying the golden signet ring he wore at all times. Legally speaking, he was allowed to make decisions on his masters behalf. He wouldn’t dream of it, however, knowing the sort of power that gave him. He read over the documents carefully. This pile had already been looked over, but he had to learn. 

When Imhotep returned it was a great deal later, and Aleksandar stood at the entrance to their rooms with a bundle of parchment in his hands. An old courier stood at the doorway, nodding and accepting the bundle with a bow. Aleksandar gave him a gold coin for his trouble, and turned back to the rooms with a stretch. When he saw his master he bowed his head, averting his eyes out of respect. “Easy, young one,,” Imhotep said softly, making towards his bed slowly. Aleksandar looked up with a smile, turning to his own not four feet away from his masters. They changed out of their day clothes in comfortable silence, the boy wearing a thin loincloth and the man deeming similar attire appropriate, though with the addition of a wide shirt. Aleksandar sat on the edge of the bed and waited for Imhotep to finish dressing. When he did, they stood and turned towards the carving on the wall above their beds; a great sun and moon with various figures chiselled beneath them. Imhotep lead them in prayer, and afterwards got into his bed. Aleksandar doused the torches in their rooms, leaving only the one at the entrance and a small candle at his bedside. 

“Thank you for that, Aleksandar.”

“It is not difficult to put out fire, master.”

Imhotep clucked his tongue at the cheek, but did so fondly. 

“In terms of the signing, young one.”

“Anything, master.”

With that, Imhotep rolled away from the boy facing the balcony, neglecting his blankets in favour of the cool air of the night. Aleksandar covered himself with a thin sheet, and drifted off to sleep quickly.

-

Their days moved by in similar a similar manner. An early morning for prayers and breakfast among themselves. Next came paperwork, and travel across Memphis to various construction sites, Imhotep giving orders and talking over the plans with the overseers. Aleksandar spent most of his time as his masters shadow, carrying the required materials and answering questions when his master was too busy to do so. He was an adept learner, and Imhotep often asked him questions in front of other viziers if only for him to prove his intellect. He was immensely proud of his ward, and though he saved saying such things for the privacy of their rooms, it exuded from him nonetheless. In the evenings, they would have supper with the Pharaoh and speak lightly. Seti would take Imhotep aside if there were any truly important matters, though the High Priest would typically inform Aleksandar of the goings on as soon as they were back in their rooms.

Today it seemed was to be no different. Aleksandar stood to the side of a long table covered with parchment. Various architects were arguing over Imhotep’s instructions, clear though they were, as his master spoke with the chief. The sun had only just reached it’s highest point in the sky, and Aleksandar stepped out from beneath the cloth canopy to feel it on his skin. The chief was dumb, he had decided that from their last two meetings. He didn’t seem able to read diagrams half as well as his delegates, and they weren’t allowed to see them. The temple was designed to be open to the sky, enabling the gods to see into it as they crossed the sky. It was meant to be beautiful, and the smooth sandstone they were going to use would no doubt be so. The entrance would be nearly as high as three men, and the floor a rare limestone. Aleksandar has enjoyed watching Imhotep draw up the plans, speaking with such passion and fire in his eyes.

The boy returned to the shade before sweat could form on his forehead, and entered in time to see his master being yelled at by the chief. The man was smaller than his master, with a great beard and a wiry frame. Imhotep did not look imposing on the daily, but as he lost his own temper he seemed to grow four feet. The High Priest glared down at the man, standing to his full height and squaring his shoulders. A silence fell, as the chief trembled beneath Imhotep’s shadow. 

“These instructions are clear. I have rewritten them two times for you now, Chief.” 

Imhotep lifted a hand out open palmed to Aleksandar, never once breaking eye contact with the smaller man. The boy pulled a scroll from his satchel and handed it to Imhotep wordlessly, grazing his fingers against his master’s skin for just a moment too long. He swallowed as he watched the scene unfold.

“You have proven yourself illiterate on many occasions, and useless as the leader of this project.”

Aleksandar bit his lip, turning his gaze to the ground in embarrassment for the man. It was unlike Imhotep to shame his people publicly. He must be well and truly angered. He looked back up, unable to keep his eyes off the debacle. 

“This is your contract, and it is herewith terminated.” Imhotep held up the scroll, and neatly tore it down the middle. “You are dismissed. There are other jobs which are more suitable for a man of your stature.”

Spluttering, and somehow grateful that he kept his head, the chief was escorted out by a fellow architect. The air seemed breathable again, as Imhotep handed the diagrams to the next in line for chief. After a brief discussion and some nervous smiles, Imhotep swept his robe about him and strode out of the canopy and began the trek down the sandy hill. Aleksandar gave a curt nod to the architects, collecting their papers from the table and running to catch up to his master. 

The return to their quarters led them through the market. Their quick pace and turned leisurely now, and though Imhotep did not speak, he seemed to have calmed down. Aleksandar knew of his masters temper, though it had never been directed at him. He was grateful for the lifting of spirits. 

“Master?”

“Yes, Aleksandar?”

“I wondered if I might pick something up. It is supposed to have arrived from the south today. “

“Certainly. I have no more scheduled meetings today. Shall I accompany you, or let you be?”

“Do not waste your time with such a simple task, master,” Aleksandar responded shaking his head, “You have had enough stress today, if it is not too bold of me to say so.” Imhotep regarded his ward fondly, before giving a brief smile and nod, “As it is. I return to our rooms before supper. Do not be late.” The boy watched the priest until he disappeared into the crowd, before grinning and turning in the opposite direction. Making a dash towards the river, he made for the wharf.

Some time later, Imhotep was resting at his desk after a bath. His skin remained damp from the warm water glistening in the torchlight. The sun had not yet gone down, and supper was to be had within the hour. He trusted Aleksandar would have returned by now, and as he had not a seed of worry sprouted in his mind. His apprentice was talented and intelligent, never would Imhotep argue otherwise. But the boy had very little grace, and was often clumsy in situations calling for precision. 

“Master!”

Speaking of which.

Imhotep lifted his gaze from the parchments in front of him to see his ward with a large basket in his arms. A slave behind him carried another, larger than the first. Aleksandar thanked the man without setting his own basket down, and sent him away without flourish. Turning back, he seemed almost hesitant to approach Imhotep, and the man was curious instantly. His ward was never shy with him. What could be the cause of such a response?

“Aleksandar.”

“Master,” Aleksandar repeated, shuffling his feet before walking forward to the desk. He placed the basket on the floor, and looked up. He opened his mouth as though to speak, and closed it again. Twisting his hands together, the talkative boy was at a loss for words. 

“Aleksandar,” Imhotep stood to circle the table, “What has made you so nervous to speak? Surely my earlier outburst has been forgiven.” Brow furrowed, the elder man stood in front of the basket on the opposite side of the boy, who was looking up at him sheepishly. He seemed so young now, instead of being sixteen summers old. 

“It isn’t that, master,” he said quietly. “It is only that I know what today is.”

Imhotep cocked his head, but now he understood. “And what is today, young one?”

“Today is the day of your birth. I know you do not celebrate it, but…” Slowly he knelt down to the basket, and grasped the woven handle as he looked up again. “I thought perhaps you deserved a gift after so many years of service.” 

“Being a High Priest is gratuitous enough on it’s own.”

The boy hesitated even more, but swallowed before speaking boldly. “That is fair to say. Then take this as a gift from me, for what that is worth.” He opened the lid and lifted out a small bundle of fur, which meowed meekly at the sudden light. 

The kitten was large for a domesticated feline, and it’s short hair appeared soft as down. A mottle of sand and brown tones, faint stripes on it’s back dubbed it a wild cat breed, with even darker stripes framing it’s bright green eyes and light footed paws. It mewled again, and Aleksandar scratched it gently beneath the chin before holding it out to his master. Imhotep took the cat carefully, noting that it’s claws were sharp. He said nothing but began to pet the small creature gently, not able to resist the thrum of it’s purrs. 

“Her name is Henutsen. I thought maybe…” Imhotep did not stop stroking the cat, but looked up with an unreadable expression to hear what the boy had to say. He seemed to be vibrating with nerves, “I thought you might enjoy her company on slow days.”

Henutsen meowed loudly, nuzzling into the High Priest’s chest and continuing to purr. Imhotep cupped her in his large hands, feeling her seek an escape he smiled and rewarded her with a scratch behind the ear. “I thank you, Aleksandar. This is a fine gift. One which means much to me.” Relieved to hear it, the boy smiled and relaxed. He picked up the empty basket and placed it beside the other against the wall. “I’ve already bought the things she needs. I will care for her in your absence, master.” He again moved to stand in front of the man, this time relaxed and happy. Imhotep seemed at ease with the kitten, and head already placed her on his bed. She nestled into his pillow as though she had always done so, and blinked up at him lazily. “She has an old soul,” Imhotep observed, moving to change for supper. “You should bathe quickly, Aleksandar. There is little time before we must meet the Pharaoh.”

“Yes master.”

Aleksandar left with a smile on his lips and a spring in his step to fetch water for a bath. Perhaps his master’s day had a few bumps in the road, but now at least, he had something to smile about.


	2. I Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex is having some dreams that seem real... and he knows things he really shouldn't. 
> 
> Meanwhile, Aleksandar gets drunk in front of Pharaoh and really, he's lucky his Master is as caring as he is.

Alex woke with a spring in his step. His dreams as of late were like reading a storybook, something he very much loved. Reading was only a small part of himself he owed to his mother. Their vast libraries of ancient tomes and modern books about history and politics left him wanting more still; he picked through them like he was starved for things to read. Even Evie hadn’t read them all, and he was very close to completing another shelf. 

Without a yawn, he jumped up out of bed and got dressed for the day. He preferred lighter clothing, but the England weather was not on his side as of late. Cold rains dowsed the city and drenched anyone who wandered outside without an umbrella. And even then, he recalled a time the wind and stolen his right out of his hands. 

Some archaeologist he’d made someday, if he couldn’t even hold an umbrella in a rainstorm. 

But fighting mummies and outrunning ancient curses ran in his blood, he knew. His parents had told him of their encounter with the mummy from long ago, and what a horrible apocalypse they had stopped. Alex tried not to think too much about what would have happened, since it hadn’t, and finished dressing to head downstairs.

“Mum,” he said down the hall, stopping at one of the many study doors. She wasn’t there, so not studying hieroglyphs today. He slid down the bannister to the main floor, grinning from ear to ear as his dad rounded the corner.

“Ey!” Rick said with a return smile, carrying what appeared to be a small chest. “Did we wake you up? Figured you wouldn’t be up for another hour,” he set the chest down on the heavy wood table, patting the top of it. “Maybe tomorrow. I’ve been sleeping real well lately,” Alex responded, touching the box gingerly, “Is this the Ankh from the museum?” Rick nodded secretly, looking around to make sure Evie wasn’t around, “I’ll show it to you later, as long as you keep up your reading today.”

Alex scoffed, looking at him with a hurt expression, “Why father,” he lifted a hand to his chest, “How could you say such a thing? Like I wouldn’t do my reading.” Rick laughed and tussled his hair, gesturing towards the foyer, “Your mum’s over there. I think she had something to tell you.”

“Alright!”

The day went by without much event; his mum just wanted to make sure he knew it was his Uncle’s birthday in a few weeks. Uncle Jonathan was a bit difficult to buy for, since he liked expensive things. She promised to take him shopping next week. By the time he was ready to head to the library, he had eaten dinner and the sky was glowing a vibrant orange on the horizon. Sunset was his favourite time to read, when the ground was still warm and the cool night breeze had started to creep into the air. 

“Alex!” He was already down the white gravel driveway, backpack hiked up high on his shoulder. He turned, cocking his head in a similar fashion to his father. “Yes, mum?”

“Make sure you’re back by 11. No more overnights there, okay?” Her curled hair was freshly washed, towel dried and still dripping over her shirt. Alex jogged back to give her a hug anyway, but made no promises. 

By the time he got to the library, most everyone was gone. It suited him just fine, and he made his way to the Egyptology section with the quick efficiency of a return reader. Without looking too much into it, he pulled out two books at random and headed to his favourite corner. 

It was, as library’s go, not an uncommon set up. Beside a tall, slender window sat a big red armchair, a table beside with a fake flower plant in a glass vase and the short table in front littered with books that hadn’t been put away. He didn’t bother to draw the blinds closed, and curled up on the chair with his books and set down his bag beside him. An easy and frequent routine. Alex sighed as he opened the book, handling the book carefully. He’d read this one before about a year ago; it was about temples and the priests of Egypt. As far as information the well was dry, there were newer books in his home that held more viable information. Even still it was nice for a fresh read and a fresh thought.

_The priests of Egypt were in a position of great power while their title remained. Gods and Goddess’s had their needs tended to in their temples, all built specifically for them. A Head Priest tended to all these temples, and is in direct position above the priests of their respective lands, and only below the Pharaoh._

He turned the page.

Alex couldn’t really remember what book he’d read or when, but as he continued to read he found that he knew what was written. Knew what was true and what wasn’t. Typically he was really good at remembering the things he read and where; it came with learning how to properly code and categorize the library at home. (Evie had no choice but to do it when he was young, but now since he was usually the one to take out books and not put them away, she had taught him. Painstakingly) He knew the locations and the priests who were mentioned by deed and not name. Alex kept reading.

_Taking on a disciple was something common. Many young Egyptians wanted to become part of the Priesthood so they could better serve their Gods. Not surprisingly, because of this many priests became corrupt as they lied to raise themselves above others, and were not below using bribery. Commonly used were sacred animal mummies, gold and jewels, and children used as slaves._

Alex slammed the book shut, his heart beating very quickly. It was touching a nerve with him and he didn’t know why. Reading about something was one thing, but experiencing it was another. As a kid he had learned how to distinguish the two, after reading about a murdered woman and grieving for a fictional character. His mother had to explain to him that these people aren’t real. But these… he trailed a finger carefully across the cover of the book, all yellowed from misuse and poor treatment. He wiped tears from his eyes, not knowing he had started crying, and put the two books in his bag and put the others on the table. Usually he’d put them back, but as he bolted from the library to get home, he found that today he didn’t care.

He skipped by Evie and Rick easily, claiming his eyes were hurting from reading in the dark. Evie had started to scold him but Rick had pulled her attention and honestly Alex had never been so grateful for his dad then at that moment. After kicking off his shoes he crawled into bed, not bothering to change. Shaking and rubbing up and down his arms, he found himself in another place entirely.

\--

Imhotep stood at the front of the temple of Ra, speaking with the priest who ordinarily took care of the ancient building. Aleksandar bowed at the base of the stairs to the top, eyes closed and mouth murmuring quiet prayers. When his Master rested a gentle hand on his shoulder, he finished quickly and stood up, a soft smile on his lips. “Master.” 

The priest returned the smile, folded his hands behind his back and began walking down the stone path towards the city streets. Aleksandar fell into step beside and slightly behind Imhotep, not saying a word as they continued to the next temple. Together the two assured the other priests were doing the proper upkeep, taking care of the Gods every desire. The gold and gems had to be replaced each day around the foot of the statues so they did not get bored of their luxuries. Proper food was to be made and given to their fires, to burn hot and feed their mortal desires, as much as their immortal forms did not need them. All in all everything was as it should have been, though Imhotep had to change the designated incense for two temples, and make sure one particular priest would do a more thorough job of cleaning the statue of Horus every morning. It was with a half day left to them that they found themselves in Imhotep’s rooms, the High Priest taking a bath with the help of his young ward.

Henutsen meowed and rubbed up against Aleksandar’s leg, and he gave her a scratch behind the ear. He knelt beside the stone indent in the floor, raised edges holding the in the steaming water. Lye soap set unused on the side, and Ihmut incense burned on the far side of the bath. Imhotep only took private baths when he was feeling in a particular mood for solitude. Most of the time Aleksandar was requested to leave, but today he sat alongside his master, ready to pass him anything he needed and sit quietly otherwise.

“Aleksandar, there is something I wish of you.”

The boy perked up, cocking his head at his Master in an unvoiced question, “Yes Master?”

“There is a Priest who requires…” he paused, looking into the bath water a moment before back up at his ward, “reminding of his duties and tasks. I will need to tend to this myself.”

“I see,” Aleksandar responded, nodding to himself, “Is it a long distance, Master?”

Imhotep nodded, sinking a little deeper into the warmth wearily, “It is, regretfully. I shall need seven days worth of provisions to go one way. It is amazing what sort of gossips Priests subject themselves to,” he added scathingly, snatching the soap from the side of the bath. Aleksandar shifted slightly, watching his Master curiously, “You heard of his misdeeds from another Priest?” Imhotep nodded, the lather on his arms growing until it was time for his back. He twisted to do this himself, muscles straining against dark skin. “It is regretful, but I must leave our temples and the Pharaoh in anothers hands. And leave you to guide this Priest in our daily activities.” Aleksandar felt himself flush with pride, but he nodded solemnly. The water ceased movement and the boy looked up with wide eyes as Imhotep levelled his gaze.

“I would not entrust the Gods, and our Pharaoh to any other, Aleksandar.”

Aleksandar bowed his head low, closing his eyes and trying to ignore the burning in his face. When he sat back up, he couldn’t meet the other mans eyes. “How long will you be gone, Master?”

Imhotep stood in the water, now only submerged to his calves. Aleksandar ignored the stirring in his gut and maintained his composure, shoving down the feelings he had been fighting for nearly a year. He had talked to Imhotep about them, and the Priest had become very guarded before speaking to him of what it meant to be a man, and what sort of things he could do to help himself. It wasn’t hard to fight the urges anymore, but every now again, like now, his self control fluttered. Sixteen years was an awful long time to wait for such a thing.

The Priest began washing his legs and replied only after he had sat back down in the water again, now starting to rinse himself of the suds. He smelled still of papyrus and the Nile after the rare rains. “I will be gone for no more than two weeks, Aleksandar. The Priest I have assigned to you is named Harwa. You have met him on several occasions during our brief travels.”

Aleksandar did remember him, and also that he did not like the man. He was not only ten years Imhotep’s senior, but also kept a ravel of young priests with him nearly constantly. Having been made to converse with them on one occasion or another, Aleksandar remembered how withdrawn the boys had been. A chuckle brought him from his thoughts, and he blushed a brilliant shade of red when Imhotep reached over to tussle his hair briefly. “You show your displeasure openly. Learn to be composed.” Aleksandar looked down to his hands on his lap, feeling as though he’d been whipped. “Yes Master.”

Imhotep stood out of the bath and Aleksandar fetched him a soft towel, stepping back while the Priest dried himself off and headed for his fresh clothes that Aleksandar had laid out for him. “It is not your dislike for him that I scold, merely your showing of it.” He looked up from behind his bangs, wringing his hands a little as Imhotep dressed into his robes. “I trust your judgement, but you must understand there is little I can do. He is the most qualified, and most willing to come to us in this time.” The man came to stand in front of the boy; rather, the man he continued to call boy. Aleksandar had grown, and soon with full priesthood he would be made to shave his head, and join the ranks properly with Imhotep and the others. The Priest brushed a hand through the light hairs on his wards head, admiring the softness. “Soon you will carry this burden that I do. Decisions must be made objectively. Do you understand that, Aleksandar?”

“I do.”

“I know. “

Later that night, they joined Pharaoh for dinner as they so often did. Seti was a fair King of Egypt, and sat with his daughter Nefertiri on one side and Imhotep on the other. Aleksandar sat beside his Master, and beside a member of high society he did not recognize. They feasted on warm, soft breads and sweet wines made from grapes and pomegranates. Veal was served still dripping, and after making sure Pharaoh and Imhotep had their share, Aleksandar too happily filled his plate. The wine made his head fuzzy, and though he rarely allowed himself this indulgence, it seemed a good idea to him then. He made small talk with the man beside him, enjoying a conversation involving court and the way it seemed the economy was going. Before he knew it one cup of wine had turned into many, and the fuzz turned into something else entirely. 

The man beside him continued to talk, quite animatedly, while Aleksandar felt himself spinning down slowly. Trying his best to keep composed, he reached for his cup of water and downed it quickly, realizing just how warm he felt in the robes. His breathing was faster, harder, though he wasn’t sure if it was just because he could hear his blood in his ears or if everyone could see him trembling. Oh, Gods what had he done. Allowed himself to drink more than he should have. With the Pharaoh no less, and his daughter, who appeared more beautiful every time he saw her. He knew her somehow, and he very much wished to ask her about it someday. Now felt a good time to him, but something held him back. It was not proper to ask such a question over the table. 

A hand on his thigh kept him grounded. He did not need to look down at it to recognize the reassuring grip, and sighed through his nose when it began to rub soothing circles into the cloth and into his skin. Imhotep for his part continued his conversation with Seti, entirely ignoring his ward and discreetly continuing the motion. Aleksandar left his wine cup empty for the duration of the meal, and spoke only when he felt he had to. Which was not much, as his conversation partner loved to talk.

When Seti came to his feet, many of his guests left and Imhotep pulled him to his feet easily, appearing to lean on his ward for all it was the opposite. 

“Are you well, Imhotep?”

“Forgive me, my friend, it seems sitting for such a long time does not bode well for my knees.” 

Seti chuckled, patting his own and giving the Priest a knowing smile. “That is age, something we all must meet with grace. I shall see that your pillows are replaced with some akin to my own.”

“Your generosity is much appreciated, Pharaoh.”

With that, Aleksandar allowed himself to be led out the dining hall and through the dark passages to their room. Once out of sight Imhotep stopped pretending to limp and pulled him quicker, one hand around his shoulders and the other clutching his arm. When they returned to the room, He let Aleksandar fall onto his back on the bed, breathing heavily and staring at the ceiling. Imhotep watched him from the end of the bed carefully, before getting a bowl of cool water and a linen cloth. “Oh, Aleksandar,” he murmured softly, disapproval and something like admiration flooding his tone. He carefully took of his wards clothes, leaving him in his underclothes, before dabbing his body with the wet cloth. 

“I am sorry, Master,” he garbled back, turning his head and mashing it into his pillow with determination to cool himself. “I know, dear one,” Imhotep responded, nodding idly and continuing his work slowly. 

“I think Nefer-“ he hiccupped, “Nefertiri likes me.” Amused, Imhotep fought a smile and hummed his acknowledgement, wordlessly urging Aleksandar to continue. “She looks at me som-sometimes.” He shivers as the cloth touches his leg. “Like she wants to talk to me.” Imhotep pauses, but nods knowing Aleksandar can’t see him through his closed eyes. He refreshes the cloth and continues, “Indeed?” The man under him groans and pulls away from him at the sudden chill on his abdomen, “S’cold, Master.” “Yes,” Imhotep agrees, continuing to do it despite the complaint, “It will help, Aleksandar. Trust me.”

“I do.”

“I know.”

The exchange is familiar to them both, and even through his drink-addled brain Aleksandar finds himself appreciative of his Master. He begins to cry. He doesn’t know when he sits up, or when he finds himself in Imhotep’s arms, the Priest holding him through his sobs and continuing to dab the cloth along his brow. He shushes him gently, saying things that Aleksandar wishes he could commit to memory, if only he could understand the words. “Yo-u’re so nice, Ma-aster,” he hiccups, clutching the robes in front of him for dear life. “M’so sorry.” Imhotep smiles faintly, and before he can convince himself not to, places a chaste kiss on Aleksandar’s brow. “Hush, Aleksandar. Sleep.”

\--

Alex wakes up panting, clothes too hot and itchy against his skin. His dreams were becoming more and more vivid lately. He got up, ignoring the clock that said it was just passed three in the morning. He shed his clothes and tossed the comforter off his bed, opting for a throw blanket that was still cool from the night air. Swaddled in familiarity, he was suddenly nervous to go back to sleep. Dreams were only dreams. But, and here he reached up to touch his forehead reverently, they felt so real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I've got a really crazy chapter coming up next, this one involves non-consensual sexual activity, and I will place warnings at the start of the chapter It isn't graphic, and really it's more the threat of it happening than it actually happening, but it's better to over-warn than under-warn.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me! Hopefully I get the next part out soon. Please let me know what you think! If you want more, maybe a side story, I'm always here for prompts. Thanks for your patience!


	3. Friends in High Places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sudden change at home leaves Aleksandar in hands with vile purpose. Nefertiri becomes involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Non-consensual touching.

Aleksandar carefully ties the satchel closed, bringing the belt over the top to secure it further. The camel snorts and shakes it’s head, scaring the flies that had settled on it’s neck. They settle again just as quickly and Aleksandar pats them away with a feeling of sympathy. 

“Aleksandar.” 

He turns with a smile that is both excitement and trepidation, looking up at Imhotep as the priest approaches. He returns the smile and dips his head, sandaled feet sweeping over the sand and travel robes ghosting above. He cut quite the image, and Aleksandar put his hands behind his back to fiddle with the sleeve of his robe absently. Imhotep didn’t like fidgeting. Imhotep stopped in front of his ward and waited patiently, raising an eyebrow as the boy continued to stare up at him in adoration. He clears his throat to lessen the others embarrassment, but his grin only widens when Aleksandar begins to flush, turning in every direction at once to explain where everything has been packed.

“These are your provisions. It’s a seven-day trip, and I know you said only to pack for two weeks, but I imagine you’ll stay there a night. And you can replenish supply in the city. It should last you and the guards well until you get there.” Aleksandar points to several different bags on three separate camels, all of which are well watered and rested.

“I thank you Aleksandar.” Imhotep inclines his head, eyes sincere and all but glowing in the sunlight. The boy feels the flush on his cheeks deepen, but returns the smile. His master has always been generous, and kind, and lately he finds himself noticing it far too much. Aleksandar watches as the man mounts the camel, black robes billowing behind him in the desert winds. Imhotep pulls his hood and mask up over his face in preparation for the journey, and Aleksandar can hear the metallic clangs of weapons and armour behind him as the guards mount their own animals. 

He steps closer, absently checking the ties on the bags and refusing to look up at Imhotep. “Master,” he begins softly, looking up after a moment’s hesitation, “I find myself unable to smile at your leaving.” With the mask on, he can only see Imhotep’s eyes, but for all that Aleksandar can’t see, he suddenly sees much more in that steady gaze. “You need not smile now,” the priest murmurs, and brings a hand to rest on Aleksandar’s head briefly. “Do smile when I return safely, Aleksandar.”

And then the camels are walking, and Aleksandar finds himself taking a few steps to follow them before remembering his duty. This journey is for Imhotep alone, and this time it isn’t his place to accompany him. Swallowing thickly, Aleksandar allows himself a moment to watch the figures become a mottled haze in the heat that rises from the sands, before turning to solemnly return to Imhotep’s rooms. 

Priest Harwa would arrive later that day, and Aleksandar had much to do in preparation for that time. First Henutsen needed feeding and attention, followed by a small amount of paperwork. Documents from the architects needed looking over and confirming, specifically the new temple. Afterwards he would show Harwa the various temple sites that were to be his responsibility to oversee, and introduce him to the Pharaoh and Nefertiri. A welcome dinner was to be held for the man and this time Aleksandar swore off the pomegranate wine no matter who offered it to him. 

As he walks back to the temple, Aleksandar feels a curl of unease grow in his stomach at the idea of working beneath anyone but Imhotep. Especially Harwa. He wonders if he will bring the other priests in training with him, some six boys around his own age. Imhotep had always been very insistent that he train under no other, and that itself was a testament to the seriousness of the situation. The gods and goddesses had to be top priority, and Aleksandar understood that. 

Even so, he thinks as he passes into their rooms, he wishes someone else were qualified to correct the priest instead. 

Henutsen greets him by running over, looking up with golden eyes and a gentle mewl. Aleksandar scratches her head and lets her rub against his legs before putting food on a plate for her. She is by no means a large cat for one of her breed, but Imhotep spoils her when he thinks Aleksandar isn’t looking, and she has a round belly from the treatment. 

He goes over the papers and diagrams given to him by the architects, fidgeting with the ring that is Imhotep’s seal. Under no circumstance was it to be given to anyone else, especially Harwa, Imhotep had cautioned. As such Aleksandar flipped it around, hiding the seal in his palm and making it appear as though the ring was merely a golden band. Along with the signet ring, Imhotep had offered him a piece of information in complete confidence. That if something were to go wrong, he was to go to Nefertiri immediately. Quickly followed with assurance that Imhotep had every ounce of faith in Aleksandar’s abilities, but no so much in others. 

The wax dripped hot onto a roll of parchment, effectively sealing it. Aleksandar used the ring on it, tied a piece of string for good measure, and set towards the architects quarters. Typically sending a courier was more common, but Aleksandar found he wanted to keep himself busy until Harwa arrived. 

Not long after the delivery, two guards met him in the sunny hallway, bowing to him lowly. Aleksandar returned the bow in half, and smiled brightly at them. He recognized most of the guards, if not their names. “Farid. Abasi. How do you fare?” 

Abasi stood easily six feet tall, white cloth and gold armour a stark difference to his skin. He returned the smile easily upon standing up straight again, chuckling at the easy way their young priest greeted them. “Very well, Young Priest.” 

Beside him Farid looked around them warily, still uncertain such familiarity wouldn’t be punished. Not quite as dark as his companion, Farid was far broader than his companion, and visibly scarred from battles outside the city. One wound seemed new, and Aleksandar gestured to it curiously. “You hurt yourself Farid. Were you sent for?” He reaches out towards the wound carefully, but Farid twists away slightly. 

“No, no, this is not a war mark.” He cocks his head and grins, knowing they are alone, “It is from bandits not far out the city. They attacked a caravan under my watch four nights ago.”

Aleksandar’s brow furrows, and he finds himself scowling at the horizon over the corridor railing. “They think they can come this close without consequence?”

Farid nods, the grin fading into a fiercer smile, “I said something similar when I executed them.” 

Abasi puts a hand gently on Farid’s shoulder, looking pointedly at Aleksandar. “Ah, Young Priest,” Farid says suddenly, standing at attention, “Priest Harwa has arrived at the docks not moments ago. He wishes to see you at once.”

Aleksandar feels the scowl deepen, but remembers Imhotep’s teachings and quickly relaxes his features. Open dislike often leads to open argument. He bows to the guards and moves between them back the way they had come, and he is grateful when they see fit to accompany him. 

Abasi is the younger of the two, a fresh warrior in training to Farid. The two are palace guards now, and while Imhotep has no control over who guards his own rooms, Seti has seen the clear amicable interactions and set it so. It is not the first time the Pharaoh has been so kind to them. The three travel the sandstone halls quickly, largely ignoring the beauty around them in favour of swiftness. The walls are painted in red and blue and gold, and ordinarily Aleksandar has an appreciation for such colours. This particular hall had just been re-painted not long ago, vases of clay filled with beautiful ferns and blossoms from the Nile. Aleksandar makes a mental note to ask what the blooms are, so he might have some in their rooms. 

Walking down to the docks takes less time that he would have liked, and all too soon Aleksandar finds himself standing in front of Harwa. The man is old, his grey hair going white and skin sagging with age. Two servants hold palm leaves over his head to hide him from the harsh sun, and behind Harwa stand two other boys, priests-to-be like himself. He greets the man with no small amount of distaste. 

“Priest Harwa, the ward of High Priest Imhotep greets you in our fair city.” Aleksandar bows deeply, and continues, “My name is Aleksandar, and I will be your guide and council while you are here.” 

Harwa barks a laugh, and stands with a nimbleness that is shocking. He decorates his robes with flowing gold jewellery, rubies and lapis wrapped around his wrists and neck. 

“It is a great honour to be welcomed to your city, boy. Memphis is a fair place, and Seti a good Pharaoh.” He pauses, as though considering how to phrase his next words, “Where is Priest Imhotep? I’d like to speak with him.” 

“ _High_ Priest Imhotep has already left to see to his duty. It is why you were called here, Priest Harwa.”

“I know why I was called here,” he snaps, sending a glare towards Aleksandar before looking up and behind him. Aleksandar has no doubt his guards are on edge, sensing Aleksandar’s own unease. “I understand,” Aleksandar responds, unable to keep his tone from clipping at the end. He closes his eyes briefly to help relax, and then offers a smile, “Will you come with me to see the temples you will be overseeing? There are several very close by.” Harwa doesn’t seem pleased but nods his assent, calling to his servants to drop their fronds and collect his things. Aleksandar notes the heaviness of the expensive wooden trunks, and leans towards Abasi, “Please find a suitable cart and mule for this,” he murmurs, “and find them some new clothes.” The guard nods, whispers something to Farid, and then disappears somewhere behind them. 

Aleksandar leads Harwa through the city, listening intently to everything the old man has to say. He stands tall and clasps his hands behind his back, looking every bit the priest Imhotep was grooming him to be. The walk takes longer than it should have, and by the end Aleksandar is pleased with the results. Harwa is puffing heavily beside him, standing in front of the palace sweating even as the night breeze begins to blow. The sky has darkened though it is only evening, and Aleksandar offers no words of comfort to the old man. If he doesn’t have the energy for a mere walk, he wonders how he’ll fare with the workload tomorrow. 

“This is where we will dine tonight,” Aleksandar glances at the sky, “In about an hour. I will show you to your rooms, if it would please you, Priest Harwa.” 

“It would.”

“Then this way,” Aleksandar nods his head and extends an arm towards a well-lit path through the gardens. Their procession takes another ten minutes, but finally they are at the guest quarters of the palace. It is a whole other building, sitting beside Imhotep’s quarters on the Nile, separated from the palace by a vast garden and pond. Aleksandar holds open the wooden door leading into the building, allowing Harwa entry. His two priests follow him, and Aleksandar notes they seem rather skittish for priests. They seem relieved when they see the room, but for the life of him Aleksandar cannot fathom why. Farid stands close beside him, and grasps the door with a firm hand to let Aleksandar inside without closing the door. 

“These will be your rooms, and I do hope they are satisfactory. The Nile smells sweet with flowers this time of year.” Harwa seems happier now that they don’t need to walk, and further pleased at the sight of a large bathing bin resting against the far wall. He looks passed Aleksandar and snaps his fingers. In an instant the boys behind him are unpacking his things, one placing fresh clothes on the bed while the other brings forth luxurious towels and incense. “I will send a servant to you when Seti is ready to begin our feasting,” Aleksandar say, and then adds as an afterthought, “He appreciates punctuality.”

When the door closes heavily behind him, Aleksandar wipes his forehead and sighs softly, staring out at the dark gardens for a moment. Farid stands beside him, not saying a word, and begins walking only when Aleksandar does. When they stand in the gardens alone, Farid stops, and lays a gentle hand on Aleksandar’s shoulder to get him to do the same. 

“Young Priest,” he begins slowly, “I do not like that man.” 

Aleksandar can’t help the laugh that bursts out of him, but he sobers quickly enough underneath Farid’s serious gaze. “I know Farid, I don’t like him either. I’m not even sure what his wards names are. Hardly one for propriety.” The guard leans in, and whispers carefully, “I don’t know that those boys are actually training to be priests, Aleksandar.” The boy cocks his head in thought, “They are imposters?” Farid looks uncomfortable, shaking his head, “No, Young Priest. They are his wards as you say. And perhaps he uses that as his cover. Did you not see their necks?”

Aleksandar nods, “Of course I did.” And it was true, he did see them. There was nothing remarkable about them. They wore crisp white sheets at Harwa did, though with less jewellery, still with some. A jewelled band had been clasped around their necks, typically to show that they were wards to someone else. He told Farid as much, but the older one shook his head solemnly. “They are used on animals, Young Priest, to show ownership. A ward is not owned by his guardian. Those are collars.” Aleksandar feels a chill run down his spine. He’s only read about such a marking, but nods along easily, “Of course. Someone like Harwa would want everyone to know who he owns.”

Farid looks at him sadly, “Imhotep has kept many things from you, Young Priest.”

Bristling, Aleksandar glares and turns to keep walking, “Keep such things to yourself, Guard.”

Farid is unused to such treatment, but sigh, resigned, and continues on with Aleksandar quietly to Imhotep’s quarters. He stands by the door as Aleksandar tries to relax before dinner. He sits on the bed with Henutsen in his lap, staring unseeing at the floor. 

Abasi comes to the door not long after, his lips a grim line. One of the servants he had gifted with new clothes threw himself off the balcony shortly after, while the other simply sobbed into the food he had been offered. Farid opted to keep this from Aleksandar for a while longer, and told Abasi to keep his mouth shut. “Abasi,” he whispered softly, “It would be wise for us to keep an eye on our Young Priest for the many days to come. He is fresh in the business of priests, and I fear Imhotep has kept him too well shielded from the dark of it.” Abasi doesn’t understand, but nods anyway. “As you say, Farid.” 

The two guards stand watch, and when the time is up and Aleksandar stands behind them in formal robes and brushed hair, they follow quietly to the palace. Aleksandar sends a servant to tell Harwa it is his time, and slips him a silver coin. Behind him, Farid gestures to a single guard to follow the servant, and together the three enter the palace for a dinner with Seti, Nefertiri, and Harwa.

 

The dining hall was set as it always was. Elegant music from the harpers filled the hall, and the servants had already laid the table with foods. Harwa had arrived promptly it seemed, with the two boys who were his wards. Aleksandar entered the hall on edge, but had schooled himself into looking relaxed. Part of his training as a priest was the ability to socialize, and socialize with people he didn’t like. 

He stopped in front of the table, uncertain where he should sit. Harwa had taken the seat nearest to Seti, where Imhotep typically sat. It was unorthodox, but Seti found it strange he hadn’t said anything. The two boys sat at another table with others Seti had invited, not high class enough to sit with Pharaoh. Aleksandar bowed low in greeting, and smiled at Nefertiri. “Pharaoh,” he greeted as he stood. 

“Ah, Aleksandar!” Seti stood and gestured to a seat beside Harwa, “Priest Harwa was informing me of your tour of our city today.” Aleksandar did not hesitate to go sit in his usual seat, but he did hesitate to smile about it as he usually did. Nefertiri frowned, but soon their thanks had been given to their gods and they ate peacefully. Seti conversed with Harwa easily, and Aleksandar began to wonder if he had misjudged Harwa. Seti was very gifted when it came to getting a sense of someone’s character. Aleksandar sipped his water and poked a berry around his plate. He was inexperienced compared to him. Though Imhotep had said his feelings were justified. So-

He froze when a hand found its way to his thigh. 

So strange to think of weeks ago, when such a hand was welcome and a comfort. Now it brought him nothing but confusion and an inherent sense of dread. He looked at Harwa, but the priest was still deep in conversation with Seti, and did not spare him a glance. Aleksandar didn’t want to embarrass himself, embarrass Imhotep and betray his training. He trembled when the hand crept upwards, soft cloth the only barrier between skin. He stared at the berry on his plate intently, trying to maintain his demeanour. 

Harwa started to move back and forth slowly, the hand heavy and hot against his flesh, and it was suddenly in a very personal space. Aleksandar had never had someone else touch him like this. He did sometimes, as he had been taught it was natural and not a rarity in young men and women. It was encouraged that he find someone to spend his life with, someone who could provide him with this physical relief. But if this was what the feelings of relief were he didn’t want them. Vaguely he registered that he felt sick. He couldn’t be Imhotep while he was away. He couldn’t do this. 

He felt himself flush as the feelings started to coax his body into pleasure. He hated it. Every second he sat there taking it but his cock was half hard under the unwanted attention. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes and he stood from the table abruptly, nearly spilling drinks and plates of food. 

Harwa looked up at him with a lecherous grin, while Nefertiri had also come to her feet, and Seti looked up confused. “Aleksandar, is something amiss?” Aleksandar struggled to look up at Pharaoh, not daring to peek out from behind his bangs. His chest rose and fell harshly and he found it suddenly difficult to speak. “No Pharaoh, only that I,” he cut himself off, swallowing heavily, “I am not well this night. I apologize and ask for your forgiveness and leave. Selfish as it is.” Seti simply nodded, and turned to look up at Nefertiri. She grasped his shoulder briefly and leaned down to whisper something in his ear. She turned and left down a hall on the far side of the room, while Aleksandar left escorted by Abasi and Farid.

“Young Priest, please, what is it?” 

Abasi sped up to match Aleksandar’s pace, but the boy simply shook his head, staring forward and heading towards his rooms. When he arrived he ordered the guards to stand outside, and not let anyone in to see him unless it was Seti himself. Aleksandar brought down all the curtains against the balcony, fastening them properly so the night was blocked out. When he was certain he was alone and there was no way someone could get in without a fuss, Aleksandar began to cry. 

He felt disgusting. The man hadn’t even looked at him for any sort of reaction. What gave him the right to assume Aleksandar was his to touch? Nobody touched him. Imhotep had always made certain of that. Familiarity was something afforded for his master, and the guards. Even then only because it was Imhotep who selected them. 

And then he realized just why he was crying. It wasn’t because of Harwa or what he’d done. It was the feeling of absolute revulsion and not being able to hide it. It was because he had stormed out and left a dinner with the Pharaoh and his daughter. Because Imhotep would never have stood for it unless it was an absolute emergency. And this…. 

Aleksandar wiped his eyes, even as more tears came. His breathes came out in ragged sobs, and he drifted from standing alone to the bed nearest to him. Instead of calming him like he thought it would, it only made him cry harder. The scent of Imhotep was here, lingering from only this morning. He clutches the sheets to his chest and inhaled deeply, choking back his tears and slowly beginning to relax. 

It took a long time. And when he had stopped crying he still shook. 

What Harwa had done was wrong. And he would confront him about it when the priest returned to his rooms. 

“Ah, Young Priest?”

Aleksandar flew to his feet, staring at the man who had entered his rooms unannounced. Abasi looked concerned, and Aleksandar realized what he must look like. A child. His face and eyes red, resting on his masters bed. “What is it, Abasi?”

“I know you said not to let anyone in unless it was Seti. But,” and here he scratched the back of his head, “She is royalty, if not the Pharaoh.”

Nefertiri entered the room then, soft linen robes flowing over her like a waterfall. She appeared every bit as in control as always, her eyes dark and mysterious. “Forgive my intrusion, Aleksandar.” She came to stand beside Abasi, who bowed to her first, then Aleksandar before leaving. 

“No, please forgive me, Princess. I left suddenly and without good reason.”

“Good reason.” She repeated slowly, walking towards him. She sat on the bed across from him, his own bed, and patted it beside her. Aleksandar had never been wary around Nefertiri before, but with things the way they were. He hesitated and she smiled kindly, “If you’d prefer something less personal, we may sit on your cushions.” He looked over at the sitting area, a chaise, and many cushioned seats around a small wooden table. Relieved, he nodded and waited for her to take the lead and followed. 

“Thank you.”

She chose a pillow died a brilliant red, and Alex decided on the blue across from her. He bowed lowly to her, suddenly remembering he hadn’t greeted her properly. When he raised his head Nefertiri was still smiling gently, though it did not reach her eyes. 

“Aleksandar. I’ll be up front with you, if it is suitable.”

Aleksandar looked at her curiously, steadily feeling less manic in her presence. Someone he knew and trusted, if they didn’t often speak much. He nodded and then remembered his voice when speaking to royalty, “As you wish, Princess.”

She cocked her head at him slightly but then sighed, looking at her lap and fidgeting with a ring. “It was brought to my intention by Imhotep the sort of man stepping in to fill his roll. He is a,” she paused, considering her words carefully, “capable priest, Aleksandar. He has accomplished much in his lifetime, and it is not over yet.” Her eyes met his and held them steady, “This says much for his ability. And yet his actions speak little for his character.”

There was no way she had seen what happened tonight, was there?

He steadied himself before replying, “What exactly are you referring to?”

“To put it straight, Aleksandar. None of the boys he brings with him are intelligent enough to be his successors. If he is looking for someone to share his title someday, he has chosen poorly. On the other hand,” her gaze turned hard, “if he is looking for someone to share his bed, he has chosen wisely. They are too meek to say anything, and he maintains that. Already one has killed himself this night. I’d heard he goes through slaves like the Nile in the wet season, but…” She opened her hands before clasping them together again, “It is quite absurd.”

Aleksandar let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Right, though to my understanding he hasn’t broken any of our laws. This is considered a common practice.”

“It is.” He watched her face twist painfully, and she looked away, towards the balcony curtains. He regretted closing them. The stars surely would have been a comfort for her. She turned back to him after straightening her posture, brushing the cloth over her knee of some invisible dirt. “I was going to wait until after dinner to see you, but the opportunity to be entirely undisturbed was too good to waste. Harwa and my father will be quite busy speaking of business this night. I come to you to give you warning.”

Aleksandar felt himself shiver, but licked his suddenly dry lips to speak despite it. “A warning for what, Princess? I have heard of Harwa’s… mannerisms.”

“Yes, I suspect you’ll experience them as well. Assuming you haven’t already, Aleksandar.” He held her gaze and made no moves until she went on. “I come not with just the warning, but with help.” Nefertiri reached into her dress, a slit in the side concealing a pouch tied fast to her thigh. She held up a small clay jar, no bigger than her palm and flat on two sides. She handed it to him, and he unstopped it with an obnoxious ‘pop’. He inhaled it, and found he smelled nothing. 

“It is odourless, though it does taste sharp if taken alone. It’s a drug.” He pressed the stopper back into the jar and turned it over in his hands as she spoke. “It affects men only. A few drops is sufficient to put a man…. Out of commission for a day.”

“He won’t be able to do his work if I give this to him.”

“Oh, he will certainly be able to do his work. Only part of him will be…” She sighed, looking at him imploringly. When Aleksandar only tilted his head, she sighed again and finished, “limp.”

A flush rose to Aleksandar’s cheeks faster than any had before, and he looked at her helplessly. “Princess Nefertiri, I am sorry.”

“It’s nothing.”

“I am also sorry to ask this, but how did you come by this drug?”

Nefertiri stilled, rubbed one of her arms up and down before looking at him sadly. “As a royal, a female no less, my maids are well versed in the affections and advances of men. Not all are desired. This is a small trick to help us. And now you.”

“Just because he isn’t… in working condition,” he swallowed, “doesn’t mean he won’t come for me.” Again.

“No, it does not. Which is why my next piece of advice comes as serious as the rest.” Nefertiri stood up, smoothing out her dress, “Should anything happen without your consent, you are to come directly to me. If not me, I’ll have the names of trusted people who will come to me in your stead. New guards will be assigned, more, if you so choose.”

Aleksandar nodded, and then looked out towards the hall. He didn’t have to think hard. Abasi and Farid are the only guards I will need. They have Imhotep’s trust. And so they have mine.” She smiles, and Aleksandar stands to lead her out of his rooms. When she has said her goodbyes, and Aleksandar is again alone in his rooms, he rolls the jar in his hands again. 

He decides just this once, just for tonight, he can be allowed the security of Imhotep’s bed. When he is there, in his bedclothes with Henutsen curled behind his head, Aleksandar falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! I really hope I am handling things alright.


End file.
